Bold Attitude Girl Quotes

A smart girl is confident, and confident girls are pretty and powerful. And when you get a group of pretty powerful girls together, they're unstoppable.

Never play the princess when you can be the queen: rule the kingdom, swing a scepter, wear a crown of gold. Don’t dance in glass slippers, crystal carving up your toes -- be a barefoot Amazon instead, for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet. Never wear only pink when you can strut in crimson red, sweat in heather grey, and shimmer in sky blue, claim the golden sun upon your hair. Colors are for everyone, boys and girls, men and women -- be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles, not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside. Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies, fierce and fiery toothy monsters, not merely lazy butterflies, sweet and slow on summer days. For you can tame the most brutish beasts with your wily wits and charm, and lizard scales feel just as smooth as gossamer insect wings. Tramp muddy through the house in a purple tutu and cowboy boots. Have a tea party in your overalls. Build a fort of birch branches, a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of Queen Anne chairs and coverlets, first stop on the moon. Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls, bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle, not Barbie on the runway or Disney damsels in distress -- you are much too strong to play the simpering waif. Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy, paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood. Learn to speak with both your mind and heart. For the ground beneath will hold you, dear -- know that you are free. And never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.

Our jobs, our relationships, our lives can all be taken for granted until they bore us-although if they are threatened, appreciation returns quickly enough. Sexual conquest is also subject to this rule. But the personal relationship we have with someone we love has strong subconscious and underpinning-like a mother’s feeling for her baby. This is why ‘What many women cannot give, one woman can’. Having said which, it is necessary to return to the basic fact that, for the male, there is always an element of ‘conquest’ in sexual fulfillment. There is probably an element of conquest in a woman’s attitude to the male, but it is of a different kind. If she feels, of the man who is making love to her, ‘He’s mine’, it is because she feels that he now belongs to her. Before that, he was fair game to all the females in the world; now she has him pinned down. He has become her property-hopefully. This attitude-although it certainly can exist in a man- is certainly less typical of the male. He feels that the world is full of beddable girls who are inaccessible to him for various reasons, but at least he’s got this one undressed…

Jimena sensed their fear. That brought a smile to her face. Her reputation was still so big that even tough enimigas wouldn't face her down. She strutted past them, her heels snapping loudly on the sidewalk. She enjoyed the feel of their admiring eyes, their sideways glances and the wonder she saw on their faces. Jimena wasn't choloed out in khakis, a tight T, and long, boyfriend-borrowed Pendletons. She wore a slinky dress and ankle-breaking high-heels. The rain made the dress cling to her body, so they knew she wasn't strapping. No gun. Still, they were afraid to confront her. This time she stopped for the red light, pausing to let the chicas know she didn't fear them. It felt good to be the toughest chola en el condado de Los Angeles. She was still down for Ninth Street, her old gang, but at age fifteen, already a veterana. A leyenda, her homegirls told her with pride. Jimena had been a real badass before she understood her destiny. She glanced at the scars and tattoos on her hand. What would the klika-girls do if they knew her true identity?

Walk like you are anointed making big plans and bold moves.

I crossed my arms. "Pray, be more specific, maestro," I said. "I'm afraid we rustic peasants have not your worldly experience." Grumbles from the audience, and their pointed daggers of curiosity were aimed at Master Antonius now. "Liesl," Papa warned. "You overreach yourself." "No, no, Georg," the old violinist said. "The young lady has a point." He smirked. "True genius is not just technical skill, yes? Any fool could learn to play all the right notes. It takes a certain... passion and brilliance to bring the notes together to say something true. Something real." I nodded in agreement. "Then if true genius is performance and ability and passion," I said, not daring to look at Papa, "perhaps my brother was ill-served by the choice of music." This piqued the old master's interest. He lifted his bushy brows, his dark eyes beady in his fleshy face. "So the little Fräulein fancies herself a better tutor than her father! Well, I am tickled. You amuse me, girl.